Every Hour Has Its End.

The Rose Is Fairest When 't Is Budding New, And Hope Is Brightest When It Dawns From Fears. The Rose Is Sweetest Wash'd With Morning Dew, And Love Is Loveliest When Embalm'd In Tears.

Loud O'er My Head Though Awful Thunders Roll, And Vivid Lightnings Flash From Pole To Pole, Yet 'tis Thy Voice, My God, That Bids Them Fly, Thy Arm Directs Those Lightnings Through The Sky. Then Let The Good Thy Mighty Name Revere, And Hardened Sinners Thy Just Vengeance Fear.

Many A Law, Many A Commandment Have I Broken, But My Word Never.

Lightly From Fair To Fair He Flew, And Loved To Plead, Lament, And Sue; Suit Lightly Won, And Short-lived Pain, For Monarchs Seldom Sigh In Vain.

The Summer Dawn's Reflected Hue To Purple Changed Lock Katrine Blue, Mildly And Soft The Western Breeze Just Kiss'd The Lake, Just Stirr'd The Trees, And The Pleased Lake, Like Maiden Coy, Trembled But Dimpled Not For Joy.